


To the Tune of the Angels

by KuriKoer



Series: Bedfellows [2]
Category: Mob City
Genre: Domestic, Established, Flat mates, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Slash, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 16:28:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6383917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuriKoer/pseuds/KuriKoer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Companion piece to Suite in B Minor, Terry's pov on sharing a bed with Sid</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Tune of the Angels

Terry had outgrown his bed when he was thirteen. He was just too tall for it, feet sticking out a little, and then a lot. His family couldn't afford a bigger bed; at least he had one to himself, which was already more than the younger twins had, and his three older sisters shared a double before they married off in a hurry. That's when his parents got the double and they could finally get rid of the broken up folding sofa with the lumps and the springs poking out, and buy a decent couch they could have guests sitting on.

The first bed he could call his own was a rolled up mattress in a back room of a place ostensibly for gatherings of book clubs and dances, or something. It was a speakeasy with a basement full of liquor and a distillery in a shack on the roof. Terry worked there afternoons, drove the truck at night, and slept long mornings curled in a pile of blankets and coats. It wasn't a bad life, as it were, for someone of his disposition. Quiet, unobtrusive, punctuated with bouts of violence and bloodshed.

And then Lansky and Siegel and that lot started running the joint, and soon after it all the other joints on the block, and on the next block. It wasn't a bad business, and it's not like his mother hadn't known Lansky's mother in the old country. Used to say it was her father, Terry's grandfather that he'd never met, who shielded Lansky's great-aunt with his body that time the cossacks burned down the synagogue. Anyway, Terry found himself full-time employment.

Sid was barely twenty and he already had that dark, distant look in his eyes, an old look. A man who's seen things. Terry had seen some bad shit in his life, but he was green compared to Sid Rothman. And as Sid's there for Ben, Terry's there for Sid. They, the three of them, Meyer and Ben and Sid, they go out and run the big business, and Terry's not too far behind, a dependable hitter. And there's not that much money to go around, because they got big plans, so everyone skimps. Terry lives with four other guys at first, and then he starts climbing up the ranks and he moves in with Sid into this one-room apartment, but at least there's no snoring. Sid breathes out at night like a soft purr. Terry thinks that's soothing.

The bed is too short for him again, and the showerhead is at eye level. Terry curls up when he goes to sleep, and Sid lets him take up more than half the space they share. Morning erections go by unquestioned and then one day Terry wakes up with his face in the crook of Sid's neck, lips pressing against shockingly soft, vulnerable skin. He inhales the smell of it, soap and sleep and Sid's hair. He thinks to move away quickly before Sid wakes up but then he realizes Sid's already up and not saying a word.

Terry likes driving Sid around, waiting in the car until Sid comes back spattered with blood. He likes going with Sid and the two of them aiming their guns and pulling the trigger almost together, synchronized harmony of gunfire and screaming that's abruptly cut. 

He cooks to a recipe of his mother's stew and Sid sits on the edge of the bed in his undershirt, playing his violin. It's such a strangely rich, delectable thing, the warm, brilliant wood, and the way Sid's face is rapt, and the sounds like decadence and divinity rolled up in one. Terry listens and smiles, and Sid keeps playing until the stew is ready and in the plates waiting for them on the creaky kitchen table, where they clean their guns and do the crossword puzzle.

At night Sid licks the inside of Terry's mouth and Terry runs his hands from the wide shoulders to the narrow waist and keeps them there. He rubs his cheek against Sid's jaw and their stubble rasps together. In the morning they take turns shaving over the sink. Terry's suit jacket looks ridiculously large hanging next to Sid's in the narrow wardrobe.

They stand in an alleyway and Sid hands his brass knuckles over to Terry. Their fingers don't even touch but Terry feels warmth anyway. 

New York is theirs, their mugs known around town, feared by anyone who knows anything. The business is bigger than Terry'd ever imagined, but he's not surprised. Ben's in the papers. Meyer's hiring accountants and lawyers. 

Money starts pouring in and Sid starts talking about how small the apartment is, how it smells. There's talk about moving to LA, city of stars. Ben's excited. Sid's planning. Meyer's arranging. Terry wonders about renting versus buying a place in LA, an apartment maybe a little bigger than this one. He can have his own bed. They can all afford it now.

He doesn't want to sleep alone.

Sid comes back from a scouting trip to LA after a week of Terry sleeping diagonally and says he found a house. Tells Terry about what a nice place it is, describes the way the garden looks in the bright California sun. Terry sits on the bed and tries to be happy for his friend. Sid tells him about the ridiculous miniature palace Ben bought for himself, fondness and exasperation mixing, as always. He goes back to talking about the house he chose, about the quiet neighborhood. Terry likes the sound of it, all of it. He wonders if there are other properties to let around there. He can't bring himself to be excited about it, though.

"Two wardrobes," Sid suddenly says, and Terry looks up. Sid's gesturing at their crappy old wardrobe, where some of his suits still hang, cramped next to Terry's. "No more wrinkles," he says, satisfied. "One big new wardrobe for me, one big new wardrobe for you, smelling of pine and rosemary."

The smile catches Terry unprepared, spills out of him, and he feels the stretch of it in his cheeks. He beams up at Sid and thinks, _I missed your breathing at night_. He takes out his suitcase from under the bed and starts packing his shirts.

They don't get to spend another night together in the New York apartment. Sid spends the night in ambush, waiting for a certain someone to leave a club and then having to drive all the way out to Jersey to get rid of the body, and Terry has an early day with the trucks operation, but they meet in-between, when the sun paints the sky a soft shuddering purple. Terry wakes up when Sid, hands cold from having washed up in the sink, slides next to him in his undershirt. He has half an hour before he has to get out of bed. They spend this half hour in each other's arms, Sid getting warmer and then hot, a furnace against Terry's chest and his thighs, even hotter where they meet cock to cock, sliding wet and heated in the sweat between them.

When Terry returns in the afternoon everything's packed and they're on their way to LA, to the house Terry's never seen. On their way home.

When they get there the place is big and Terry has another moment of uncertainty, and he figures maybe it's time to bring it up with Sid. But Sid's never needed to talk about what they have, so Terry doesn't need to either. There's other bedrooms but Sid leads him to the main one and shows him his own wardrobe where he can put his suits and his own dresser where he can put his underwear and his socks. And the bed is extra long. After Terry takes off his shoes he sits on it, then climbs to sit at the headboard and survey his new bedroom. Sid's hanging his jacket and talks about the carpet being a little loud and maybe they'll swap it for the one in one of the guest rooms. Terry's lying down and he stretches his legs and his feet don't poke out past the edge of the bed.

They go to sleep still not having said a word about what matters, but Sid falls asleep and starts his low, purring breathing, and Terry moves closer to him and wraps his arms around the slighter man, feels the tense muscles of Sid's back slowly relaxing against his chest. In the morning Terry wakes to the unfamiliar smells of the bedroom and the intensely familiar, warm scent of Sid. He's also hard. Sid gives him a hand and he does the same for Sid, and they come against each other's bellies, one after another, while the hot California sun filters through the blinds.

He comes to realize he loves Sid. One evening, when the air is sweet with the night blooms in the garden, and Sid is sitting in their living room playing his violin, Terry decides that's how he feels, and even if he's not gonna say it, because Sid doesn't need to hear it, at least now he knows. It's love, is what it is, what men feel for their sweethearts or their wives, what makes them happy to come home at night. He smiles at Sid who smiles back absently while making some sweet tune dance around the room.

Ben wore his wedding ring all the time he was with his girlfriend or with the whores, all the time until Esta moved back to New York and he angrily tried to pull it off his finger, discovered it was stuck, struggled with it until it was finally off and flung it across the room.

"You know, you two are lucky," he announces in Sid and Terry's general direction, and Sid doesn't bat an eyelash at that. Terry waits patiently. Ben starts to rant about marriage. Sid does this thing where his mouth goes thin.

Terry has his own brass knuckles, but he likes it when Sid gives him his when it's time to smash someone's face in. It's got this feeling to it, Terry can't describe it, when Sid takes out his brass knuckles and hands it over to Terry and stands back, smiling a little. Used to be he took the time to have a smoke while Terry pummeled whatever poor bastard was in for it this time. Past few years, he just stands and smiles. Sometimes chews on a toothpick. 

Terry finishes and wipes the brass knuckles until no more red comes off on the handkerchief, and hands it back to Sid who slides it back into his pocket, smile broadening for a second before he nods at Terry for a job well done. When they walk away, Terry feels the bareness of his fingers.


End file.
